


shall give his angels charge

by VesperRegina



Category: DC Comics, Firefly, Spider-Man (Movieverse), Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: The Original Series, Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-13
Updated: 2009-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-10 02:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VesperRegina/pseuds/VesperRegina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has many charges; these are just a few. 736 words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shall give his angels charge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zarz](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Zarz).



> Ficlet #1 for Zarz. I hope you like this, even though the genre isn't what you asked for. Spoilers for: _Spider-man_, first movie; "Serenity Part One" of _Firefly_; and "Relics" of _Star Trek: The Next Generation_. Title from Psalm 91:11.

_**i.** now I lay me down to sleep_

Castiel has been watching Peter Parker since he was small. Told to guard, told that this young boy, whose aunt prays for him every night and day, has a destiny. Told to wait until one moment; that he will know when the time is right.

So when Peter is bitten by a genetically altered spider, he is there. Knows that it is meant to happen. He hears the prayers of May Parker in his mind, the constant running litany of, "Please watch over Peter, Lord. Send your angels to guard him."

As Peter crashes into unconsciousness, Castiel kneels down beside him, places a hand over the spider bite and prays. Peter's fever abates and his shivering stops.

Downstairs, May looks at the ceiling, and the worry that was coiling deep in her eases with the sense that Peter's all right.

Castiel passes her in the kitchen, whispers in her ear, _He's fine, May_.

She says to herself, "He's fine, no sense in worrying."

Peter sleeps.

_**ii.** I pray the Lord my soul to keep_

Malcolm Reynolds is one cocky soldier. Full of pride and brash courage. Castiel thinks of another young man, another soldier in another fight, and ponders the similarities.

He stands, among the fire and the smoke, the dust rising and chunks of dirt flying in the wake of bullets hitting the rocky ground. Serenity Valley is nothing like its name. Men are dying, fighting, at war.

No one can see him, but he sees everything. Sees Mal kiss his cross, follows him across the battlefield. Mal does not know the protection he receives.

Castiel mourns when Mal watches his world crumble, his faith destroyed, but his mission is complete. Malcolm Reynolds will live to fight another day and the young man, Bendis, dies.

This is how the Lord preserves his own.

_**iii.** may angels watch me through the night_

"Do I know ye, son?"

"No, I don't believe you do."

They sit across from each other, and Scotty leans forward, setting his glass tumbler down. "Why do I get the feeling we've had this conversation before?" he asks.

"Perhaps because we have."

"Huh." Scotty lifts the tumbler, eyeing the amber liquor inside. He says, "I think I've had a wee bit much of this, because that makes absolutely no sense."

"The alcohol has nothing to do with it, Montgomery."

Scotty sets the glass down. "You remind me of someone."

The man across from him exhales softly, amused, and a smile touches the corners of his lips, but doesn't fully form.

"I just have that type of face."

"Hah. You say that like you've learned that's the proper thing to say."

"It's not important."

"Ah-ha. That means it is."

"We've had this conversation many a time, Montgomery. It's only as meaningful as you intend it to be. These are your dreams; you won't remember them when you are rescued."

"Rescued?"

"It's not important."

"That's what you say."

"Drink your Scotch, Montgomery, and humor me. Explain to me how the transporter works, if you please."

"Ah. Now that's a topic I'd be happy to discuss. You see..."

_**iv.** and keep me in their blessed sight_

"I can see you."

The voice comes out of the night, out of shadows, curious, calm, but with a thread of threat underneath. "I only know of one other that puts the sun to shame. What are you?"

"Only a messenger, Mr. Sage." Castiel doesn't turn to look at the man behind him, scans the city with eyes that have seen too much.

"You know my name."

"Very little is hidden from me. I think you can relate."

"And for whom do you bring a message?"

Castiel turns his head to the side, not looking at Sage directly but sidelong, then turns again, away. "Not you."

"I see."

"You see much, and yet you question much."

A soft chuckle. "That is so, messenger."

"Move on, Mr. Sage. Your city needs you and I am not come to discourse on my presence here."

Sage does not answer, but Castiel hears soft footsteps behind him, and then Sage passes him, only to look back. His fedora casts a shadow over his masked face, disguising the lack of features.

He speaks. "I have seen my share of the superhuman, but you...you are other."

Castiel gazes on, silent. Sage doffs his hat, and walks away, whistling.

End.


End file.
